LOVELY maiden gather’d roses,
Sleep overtook her then;
Pass’d a youth and call’d the maiden,
Waked the maid again:
“Wake! O wake! thou lovely maiden,
Why art slumbering now?
All the rosy wreaths are fading,
Fading on thy brow.
He, thy heart’s own love, will marry;
He will break his vow!”
‘Let him marry, let him marry,
I shall not complain;
But the thunderbolt of heav’n
Shall destroy him then.’